


and the end comes too soon (like dreaming of angels)

by LambSauced



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angel!Waverly, F/F, no demons, sort of angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LambSauced/pseuds/LambSauced
Summary: Tired, scared, hurt, and almost dead, Waverly thinks that this might the moment where her lifetime ends. Centuries of flying and watching and learning, taken away by a mortal wound. Until a stranger with red hair and a cat finds her.





	and the end comes too soon (like dreaming of angels)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have an entire story to write and all but... this idea had been in my head for a while. So, please enjoy, comment and kudos! and tell me to hurry the fudge up with my other fic. But, come one, the Carmilla Movie just came out and I just kept thinking about an old-timey Waverly falling in love with a 21st Centure Nicole.
> 
> (once again i didn't spell check cos i'm lazy) :D

She texture of grass, whispering against her bear skin, was foreign to her, as she lay on the forest floor. She could feel the soil up her back and on her arms and her body from where she had rolled as she fell. There was pain, sharp and shocking, in her side, and when she looked down she sore blood oozing from the arrow wound that pierced her skin, soaking the colour of the white feathers beneath her into a dark crimson colour around her ribs. 

With one, shaky hand, much paler then she remembered, she reached out and attempted touch the arrow, but even the brush of her fingers against its neck was enough to send pain coursing up through her body and she cried out in pain. So she settled once more, dazed, scared and half-dead, her eyes searching the night sky above her. The edges of her vision were lined with branches, but above the sky was clear. She could see her sisters, glittering balls in the distance, shining from the safety of a million miles away. So close yet still so far.

She accepted in this moment that she would die of a mortal wound, and never rejoin them in the sky. The angel who fell to the earth.

Darkness clouded the edges of her vision, just as the crunching of footsteps approaches the clearing where she lies. She can hear them stop and a faint gasp, before her vision goes completely blank.

She’s still dizzy when she wakes up, but the unfamiliarity of the dirt floor has gone. Around her she can feel her weight balanced between two firm arms; one looping around her back, her wings tucked uselessly into her sides, whilst the other has hooked her bare knees together. As painful as it is, she twists her neck up to take in her saviour, and can only see a flash of red through the blurriness of her vision before she sinks back into unconsciousness. 

She comes to once more, but this time she’s staring up at a blank ceiling, her body supported by soft cushioning beneath her and she guesses that she’s in a bed, if the forest green comforter beneath her is anything to go by. Her head is propped up by an equally soft pillow, allowing her to gaze around the room in a half-lidded gaze; sleep having not quite left her yet. The walls and the floors are wood, dark and aged with an undeniably quaint charm. There’s a window to her left, showing the darkness of the night sky and the silhouette of trees outside. The only light in the room is an oil lamp on the bedside table: also wood. She sees a picture or two on the wall, and even one propped up on the dresser opposite. This one she can see. It’s a portrait of a fluffy ginger cat sitting on somebody’s shoulder, matching red hair and a dimple squeezed into a cheek are the only thing visible about the person and the angel thinks that this person must be her saviour. 

But then a dark thought enters her mind.

What if they were the one who shot her down? And now they’ve brought her back to their home where they will undoubtedly cut her open and cook her. Tales of humans and their savagery enter her mind, and she remembers briefly the pain she felt when she was alive.

Hurriedly, the angel attempts to sit up, hair cascading over her shoulders as she groans, shifting into a sitting position. The silk of her dress has been sliced open, allowing tanned skin to show, and where a cut has marred the perfect expanse of it. The arrow is gone, thank God, and the wound has been sewn shut. The job done isn’t amazing but it isn’t horrible either; no where near the makings of a professional but definitely by somebody who knew what they were doing. The brunette’s brow furrows: why would her captor, the one who had shot her down, try to fix her wound?

Before she could dwell on it, the door to her left creaked open and the very person she had been speculating about stepped through, clutching a bowl in their hands. She was a woman, a tall one at that, and the fiery red hair indicated it must have been the same person. 

The angel scrambled back in fear, feet digging into the mattress in an attempt to get away from the stranger, for who knows what she could do? The sting in her side stops her from moving any more, and she wails in protest.

The women looks concerned and begins to approach her, her voice soothing as she lifts up one hand in peace.

“Hey, hey! I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise! It’s okay!” She tries, slowly stepping towards the bed.

The brunette stops her movements, but still eyes the stranger cautiously; saying nothing. The woman looks down at the bowl in her hand before offering it gently to her guest,

“I-I brought you soup.” She struggles out, the nerves entering her voice. Partly because she doesn’t know what to do, but mostly because there is a girl with wings lying on her bed and she’s by far the most beautiful creature she’s ever seen. 

The girl (girl?) in question cocks her head to the side, some of her chestnut hair slipping over her shoulder. The redhead swallows.

“You know… Soup. You eat it,” She pauses, “You’ve never had soup?”

The angel shakes her head and, gingerly, relaxes her position so she’s no longer curled into a ball on the right side of the bed, allowing her to slowly crawl over to where the other girl is standing, being careful of her wound. 

The redhead perches on the side of the bed, passing her the peace offering with a warm smile. The brunette lifts the spoon, filled with tomato soup, and tips it, letting it drip back into the bowl. She does this again before finally eating a mouthful, her eyes lighting up at the taste and she tucks in to the rest of the bowl.

“I’m Nicole. By the way. Do you have a name?” The stranger asks, and the angel stops her eating to give Nicole the once over, the redhead shifting uncomfortable under the intense gaze of the being. She’s tall, although she had already deduced that, with warm, friendly brown eyes and high cheekbones. The angel thinks that she could have been an angel as well, her face being both delicate and strong at the same time, and undeniably gorgeous. 

So she does something she never thought she’d ever have to do in her entire lifetime.

She trusts a human.

She speaks to her.

“Waverly,” Her voice should be hoarse and scratchy, Nicole notes, but it’s soft and sweet like honey and the name drips just as easily from those pink lips.

“So you do talk!” Nicole grins,

“Yes.” The angel frowns, “Were you under the assumption I could not?”

“No! No, of course not. I just… hadn’t heard you speak yet. It was a joke, forget it.” Nicole shrugs, her cheeks now tinged pink in embarrassment. 

“A joke?” Waverly asks, tipping her head to the side and Nicole almost giggles at the sight, but instead she smiles.

“Yeah. You know; ‘knock, knock, whose there?’?” She offers. But the frown between Waverly’s brow is still there and her eyes dart to the entry way.

“Is someone at the door?”

“No, it’s um… A joke is almost like a story that’s… Meant to be funny. You’re meant to laugh.” The redhead explains.

“What’s funny about someone at the door?”

“Nothing. Okay, here, try this: Why did the picture go to jail?”

“I’m not sure- petty theft?”

“It was framed.” 

A moment passed of complete silence, Waverly staring blankly at her saviour, and Nicole was worried it had made no sense to the other girl, when a brilliant smile stretched across her face. She giggled freely and loudly, clutching her stomach with a hand as she laughed, and Nicole thought it sounded like the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Oh, that was funny!” Waverly giggled, handing her empty bowl back to Nicole.

“Yeah, you like it?” She said as she placed it on the dresser. The angel eagerly nodded,

“Yes! Say another!” She prompted, shifting closer to the redhead. Nicole thought for a moment before smirking and turning to her,

“What building is always the largest?”

“I don’t know, tell me!”

“The library, it has the most stories!”

The same reaction occurred. The brunette beside her tipped her head back as she laughed and Nicole’s stomach swooped. 

“Oh, we never had these at home!” Waverly grinned as a comfortable silence settled and Nicole looked down at her hands, braced between her knees, before looking back up at the other girl.

“Waverly, do you mind if I ask you something?” She was cautious with her wording, but the brunette smiled comfortingly back, any hostility between them having gone. 

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Where is home?” She asks, turning to fully face her. Waverly’s brow furrows for a second in thought, but she still smiles as she stares at the ceiling.

“Home is… up there.” She gestures with a nod out of the window and towards the sky, where she can see thousands of stars glittering against the dark canvas, an empty spot, invisible to the naked mortal eye, glares back at her.

“The sky?”

“Yes. I am an angel. We live where everyone can see us, amongst the stars, and we can look down upon the earth; watch over humanity. I don’t remember what it’s like to be alive, everyone rarely does, it was so long ago. So… so long.” The angel shakes her head.

“Was your name Waverly then too?” Nicole asks, and Waverly shakes her head.

“Probably not. Waverly is a name that was given to me by my sisters when I joined them in the… ‘sky’ as you call it. I don’t remember my real name.” The angel looks forlornly at the comforter, picking at a loose thread with perfectly trimmed nails. Nicole sympathises with the girl and smiles sadly,

“If it makes you feel any better, I think Waverly is a beautiful name,” She sits back against the bedpost and looks out at the sky, “The quaking aspen tree meadow.”

The angel, eyes sparkling with some unknown emotion, mixed with adoration, gazes up at her saviour. 

“Thats… lovely. Thank you, Nicole.” Her smile is soft and warm. 

“Anytime.”

Nicole sleeps on the couch that night. Waverly sleeps in her bed. 

She’s gone by morning and Nicole doesn’t know why it hurts so much.


End file.
